


To Get The Girl, You Must Catch The Cat

by Fandom_Ridden



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Ridden/pseuds/Fandom_Ridden
Summary: If you want the most wanted woman in town, you must catch the cat. But how do you catch the cat? The answer? Let the cat catch you. This Fic will be reworked at a later date, but for the moment i just want to post as i go, otherwise i will never post....
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd
> 
> I don't know how to post the image, so here's the text from the Tumblr post that inspired this (also, I have no idea past chapter one right now, so I can NOT guarantee an update schedule):
> 
> User: siniristiriita  
> Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she'll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat's neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them.
> 
> You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.
> 
> Secondary plot twist: The woman is a shapeshifter. She is the cat.

5 years ago, the Honourable Phryne Fisher had announced to all and sundry, at her engagement party, that she had adopted a black cat. She had said that the person that could open the front door of her house, with the key tied to the cats’ neck, was the one she would marry. Regardless of who that person was, but they had to be over the age of maturity.

As expected, this caused a lot of strife for both families. Not that she cared. She had received enough money upon reaching the age of maturity to live comfortably for at least a decade, and she had immediately invested in several business in the township, and those dividends were more than enough to cover her expenses, so she began to amass quite a bit of wealth in her own right.

The cat as far as anyone knew, had no name. It was pure black, with bright green eyes that never showed any signs of fear, or panic, regardless of the traps and tricks the townsfolk tried on it.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had tried to catch the cat in the second year after the announcement. It was almost like a rite of passage by that point. It was expected that everyone have at least one try at the cat, but Jack was too busy with his job to try that hard, so his attempt, like all the others, had failed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd
> 
> I'll probably play around with this more later once i've written more.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was a man that never showed if something got to him, if he could help it, the people he helped needed to know he could be depended on whatever happened. But the case he'd just wrapped up... He shuddered. They never did find all the pieces. 

The brass had agreed to give him a week off, as they had seen the usually stoic man start to crack from the gruesome visage that had greeted him at the crime scene.  
He turned his thoughts from the ghastly images, and instead thought about one of the interviews he'd had to do early on. The Honourable Miss Fisher was as lovely up close as she looked from afar. Lovelier, if that was even possible. She had even seemed concerned for him, to the point where he had found himself agreeing to organising this week off and taking some admittedly much needed time for himself. 

He'd relinquished control of the conversation to her after the interview, allowing himself to be charmed by her, since his facade he never let drop around people associated with his work, had already cracked when he accepted the whiskey.

But he now has a week with nothing to do. Nothing to fill his time but thinking... And maybe gardening, his front garden was starting to look like no one cared for it.  
With that, he drifted off to sleep, unaware of the cat sitting in a shadow cast by the moon, gazing with concern at his house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She sat staring at his house with the patience a cat that's hunting is known for.

She thought about what she knew of the Inspector. Which was not much. Most people thought he was profoundly serious, unwavering in pursuit of the truth, and nigh incorruptible, as evidenced by a couple of arrests he had made. He had then turned down every promotion since, claiming he would rather be where he can help people, not cuffed to a desk, when one journalist had pushed too hard. Apparently, he had got in a little trouble for that, but since they could not argue with his close rate, they had left him alone.

His attempt to catch her had also been incredibly half-hearted, more an attempt to make people stop pushing him to try catch her then anything.

Truthfully, she had been dreading his interview, he was nice to look at, but people that had been previously interviewed by him claimed he had no sense of humour.  
But it had not gone at all how she had expected. He had seemed surprised when he accepted her cheeky offer of a whiskey, which told her more than he wanted too. Not that he touched it after the first polite sip.

But he had relaxed, clearly accepting that his image of 'Focused Detective' had cracked. They had done the interview, and then she had masterfully flipped the script and started enquiring after him, and the people affected by the crime, and then asking to see the crime scene. 

When he'd point blank refused and turned white as a sheet, she'd charmed him and convinced him to take some time off, and then ensured he'd get however much he wanted with a couple of phone calls after he left.

And now.... Now she was a cat, staring at his house, as was her wont since that interview, making sure no one came to disturb what little rest he was able to grab.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise they will actually talk at some point in fic!
> 
> again unbeta'd!

He dreamed; a weird jumble of images (the crime scene, Phryne, seeing himself on the coroners table, that morphing into Phryne staring at him from the coroners table) that left him awake with the shakes around 2 in the morning. The cat, who had been dozing, heard him move around, and moved to where she could look in through a small gap in the curtains.

He stripped his sweat soaked clothes and his bedding and began the slow process of cleaning them. While they soaked, he grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey, and drained half the bottle in one go. Shuddering, he quickly finished his chore, and went to sleep on the couch, keeping the whiskey close in case he needed it again.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Phryne sat in shocked contemplation. She didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that he had downed half a bottle of whiskey in one go, the fact he *had* a bottle of whiskey beside his bed to drink, or the fact he seemed perfectly happy to fall asleep on the couch after leaving his sheets crumpled in a ball beside him.

Returning to her human form, she cursed the fact she had left her lockpick at home, and sending a slither of magic into the door, heard the lock click open way too loud in the darkness. 

Keeping alert in case he woke up, she paused, and looked around in the gloom. The house looked like it was normally kept quite tidy. For the moment, there were things on a couple of side tables and even the floor, but still, out of the way.

Seeing him shiver without a blanket, she picked up the sheets, unravelled them in the bedroom, and with a couple more bursts of magic, dried them, and made the bed. 

Returning to the living room, she stared at him. The suit he was in the habit of wearing had hidden the musculature of his body from her. He was fit, with long, swimmers’ muscles, and a washboard stomach. His face looked different when he slept. When he was awake, he was all angles, and (presumably) frown lines, but asleep, he looked younger. Less haunted by the horrors he saw every time he went to work.

Thankful for the fact she kept herself fit, and cursing her ancestors for limiting women to inheriting shapeshifting and household magics, she shifted his feet to the floor, and, struggling more than she cared to admit, she dragged him from the couch and dumped his upper half quite unceremoniously on his bed.  
Returning to the main part of the house, she sent her magics out, tidying and dusting. He would be confused, but hopefully think he cleaned whilst he was drunk. 

With a final glance in his room, she wrapped the duvet around his legs and used her magics to move them onto the bed, and then let herself out, magically relocking the door behind her.


End file.
